I love.

I love dreamcatchers, feathers, and watching birds do what they do.

I love the colors of Colorado sunsets, shades of blue and green much like the sea.

I love big, clunky rings on my fingers, especially those of turquoise and silver.

I love Reese's cups still.

I love tea at night with a bit of honey.

I love alliterated words that pop unpredictably into my head like platypus, pitter patter, and panacea.

I love everything about books, the way they smell, the way they feel in my hands, the way a page sounds when it turns, and the way I can get lost without ever leaving home.

I love random acts of kindness, the way someone opens the door for you, gives you a smile, or brings you something you need without ever having asked them.

I love hearing my daughter call me "Fluffy".

After he's all tucked in at bedtime and should go to sleep, I love how my son tries to get more hugs and kisses by calling from his room "Mom, can you come back here?......Mom! I'm bleeding.......my finger's broken.......MOM, I'm paralyzed!!!!!"

I love microns and sharpies in a jar.

I love journals, old, new, handmade, lined or unlined, floppy or hardcover, they all make my heart do cartwheels.

I love the smell of verbena and lemongrass, pine and cypress.

I love soy lattes in the morning.

I love kale sauteed with olive oil, garlic, lemon and a little bit of soy sauce.

I love paper calendars and planners, despite the invasion of iCal and Google.

I love fall weather for soft, oversized cowls and knee high boots.

I love the sound of silence in the woods.

I love how leaves say goodbye.

I love crisp November skies, so clear that every cloud sculpted and feathered by the wind is a gift to the eyes.

I love that in 10 minutes I can write without hesitation just a smidge of what I love so much.

I love the promise of all that we have yet to discover. The unknowing makes anything possible. The burning hunger and passion to keep seeking, keep learning, and keep dreaming. To never forsake that we still have so much to love despite knowing that we may never quite fully possess all that we are capable of.



much love to all of you

xoxo

Pushing limits

The banjo. Why I chose this instrument to begin learning at 41 is still an enigma to me. I enjoy bluegrass, but am not necessarily an enormous fan. No one in my family has ever played the instrument. I didn't grow up anywhere rich in bluegrass or banjo history. No country or bluegrass radio stations blasting from our old, yellow Dodge Aspen (what a fabulous car that was) when I was 10. In fact, years ago when I did imagine myself playing anything, the piano was the frontrunner in all my dreams.

But that did change, and here I am with a banjo and three pics fumbling my way through strings, chords, and strange looking music. At least once a day I curse that I didn't begin sooner, that I didn't have to squint and refocus my eyes just to see the strings 10 inches from my face. But I didn't begin sooner. An offer to borrow a banjo brought me to this place 7 months ago and surprisingly now it's not reading that is pushing me to get my old lady glasses, but the burning desire to play the banjo better.

Passion is a simple thing. If we love something enough, the idea is that we will stop at nothing to go for it. Even if it means we have to suck for awhile (a long while) before we get any good at it. We will give up having nice fingernails, develop ugly fingertip caluses, and endure our own crappy music playing just to get to the heart and meat of it all. It means that our comfort zone is not the endzone and frustration is actually a sign of self deconstruction and evolution. It means realizing that standing beyond our limits actually feels good. It means that in these moments, we are becoming something that not long ago was only just a dream.  That, I think I can do...

Happy Friday to you...

xoxo